Secrets & Lies
by RosalindHawkins
Summary: Hermos drained his cup and signaled for the barkeep to refill it yet again. He'd seen something he wasn't supposed to, and he wished that he could erase that moment from his memory forever. / Smut, language, yaoi. AU Platoshipping, eventual Paleshipping. A story about the three knights of Atlantis and about how secrets always lead to lies.
1. An Unhappy Confrontation

Hermos drained his cup and signaled for the barkeep to refill it yet again. His face was sour as he glared into the dark amber liquid that would only add to his intoxication. He gulped it down, welcoming the way it numbed him physically and mentally, the way it would help remove that horrid image from his mind. He'd seen something he wasn't supposed to, and he wished that he could erase that moment from his memory forever. No such thing was possible, however. Not even the greatest wizard could remove just a few moments, just an isolated incident from his recollection.

"Why didn't they just tell me?" he muttered bitterly, glaring at the fist he'd formed on the bar. "How long were they hiding this from me?" He was clenching his hand so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "How much of it was a lie?" he growled, his melancholic mood making his limbs and head heavy. He sighed, his forehead falling forward to rest against the smooth pine wood surface of the counter. His eyes were closed as he answered the innkeeper's query about his state, saying that he was alright.

He'd reached his limit for the night, and sunrise wasn't too far away. It was time for him to get what sleep he could. He reached into his coin purse and paid his tab, leaving a generous tip, since the bartender had put up with his ranting and grumbling all night long. He may be hopelessly drunk, but he still had a sense of decency.

He refastened his heavy wool cloak around himself as he ventured into the dark autumn night, crispy oak leaves crunchy underfoot before being swirled away by a brisk breeze.

The inn had been full, forcing the legendary knights to camp in the woods that night, but Hermos had still gone back into town for a drink. He'd initially intended to engage in some kind of merriment while indulging in a stein or two of hard cider, but his plans had changed when he realized he'd left his coin purse at camp and gone back to retrieve it.

He glared into the shadows, one hand on the hilt at his belt as he stumbled back to camp, pondering that which had driven him to a state of abject inebriation: his comrades, his best friends, stripped naked and fucking like dogs in heat.

Despite his efforts to remain alert, Hermos was too sodden with drink to be capable of defending himself against the thief who rushed at him from behind a thick sycamore tree. He made an effort to resist his assailant, but before he could use the knife he'd drawn, he suffered four blows and was knocked to the ground, where he lay stunned while the thief made off with his money, fleeing with a crunch of leaves and a flash of white hair.

He took a small comfort in the fact that he'd tipped the barkeep so generously, because the thief received that much less money from his stolen purse.

As he hauled himself to his hands and knees, he remembered Timaeus' desperate whines as he rode his partner on the riverbank, begging wordlessly for satisfaction as Critias claimed the green-eyed knight with his seed.

The honey-eyed knight vomited weakly into the underbrush as he remembered the flush of completion that colored Timaeus' pale complexion, the tenderness with which Critias had caressed the shorter knight as he started to wash away the evidence of their actions.

Hermos forced himself to stand, feeling wretched and ill as he tottered the rest of the way back to their camp, heedless of his injuries. He collapsed inside his own tent, taking a sip from his water-filled flask before he kicked off his boots and sank into sleep.

* * *

The next morning was miserable. Hermos threw up again shortly after waking, only to receive a cutting jab from Critias about his drinking habits. Usually, Hermos would have taken it to be the snarky jest that it was, but on this cold morning, it just felt like an insult. His mind filled with fog, he was slow to pack his things, giving the other two, no doubt, plenty of time to pack and load their own horses while sharing warm glances and letting their hands brush together any chance they got. Hermos wouldn't know, though. He'd had his back to them the whole time, unable to look at the friends he'd once trusted.

The auburn-haired knight was still fumbling with the ties as he strapped his pack to his horse when Critias' patience had run out.

"I told you not to drink too much last night," he snapped, frustrated with the younger knight and his stubborn, rebellious ways. "Why can't you ever just do as you're told?"

"Oh, would you rather I stayed in camp last night?" Hermos turned on Critias with more anger than was justified even in these circumstances. "You seemed eager enough to get rid of me, just like you always do." He faced his saddle again, finishing with his pack as best he could so that he could just get out of here.

"Stop spouting nonsense and hurry up so that we can get going. You've wasted enough of our time already." Critias turned on his heel and started to walk over to his horse, but was stopped when something hard hit the back of his head. He turned around slowly, eyes narrowing to dangerous, dark slits.

"A waste of time? Is that what I am now?" Hermos demanded, another rock in his other hand as he squared off with Critias, ready to take out his anger in a fight, despite his sore bruises from his encounter with the thief. "Here I thought that I was the third wheel," he sassed back, actively trying to provoke the other night into a rage while Timaeus looked on with concern. He needed to stop this before it escalated.

"Hermos," he interjected calmly, stepping between his friends with his hands held up, as if that gesture could cool their tempers all on its own. "I don't know what you're talking about, but I'm sure that—"

"Don't you?" Hermos challenged, turning to face Timaeus now. Pain had crept into his expression, shining through the rage so that Timaeus could see it in his eyes. "How long have you two been lying to me?"

"You're still drunk," Critias scoffed with overt disdain, making Hermos lash out again. He lunged towards Critias, but Timaeus held him back.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you!" he shouted savagely. "You'd just like to believe that I never saw you two together last night, wouldn't you?!"

Critias stiffened. Timaeus gasped. Hermos wrenched himself free from his friend's hold and stepped away from both of them, a look of disgust on his face.

"Were you ever going to tell me the truth? Or were you just going to keep lying to me forever?"

"Stop overreacting." Critias' haughtiness grated on Hermos' nerves, making him clench his jaw. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I'll stop overreacting when you stop pretending I'm a child!" Hermos turned around and mounted his horse. "I know what I saw. You could have told me that you two were a couple." Timaeus flushed and dropped his gaze, flooded with shame as he realized what, specifically, Hermos had seen. Critias turned and mounted as Hermos spoke, Timaeus following suit after a few moments. "I would have kept your secret if you'd told me. Do you think I'm not trustworthy, is that it?"

"It's not that we don't trust you, Hermos," Timaeus tried to explain, but the youngest legendary knight wouldn't listen.

"Really?! Because that's what it sure as hell feels like!"

"Could you just calm down, Hermos?" Critias growled. "And lower your voice, while you're at it, or you'll have the whole town coming out here to see what you're yelling about!"

"I will _not_ calm down! How long have you been lying to me?" he demanded, looking from one knight to the other. They remained silent, neither seeming very willing to answer, which angered Hermos even more. He couldn't deal with this. "I thought we were friends."

"We are!"

"Friends trust each other, and we clearly don't." Hermos was starting to choke on the words. He felt deeply betrayed. He'd trusted these men with his life countless times. They'd trained together, fought together, bled together, cried together. So why did he suddenly feel like he didn't know them at all? "I think it'd be best if we parted ways here."

"What?" Critias couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"You can't just leave," Timaeus insisted, his voice stern. "It's dangerous out there and—"

"And I'm nothing if not incompetent, right?" Hermos let out a bitter laugh. "I'm not a complete idiot, even if Critias thinks so." He shot the blonde night a glare.

"I never said that—"

"Can it, Critias! You've always thought it, whether you said it or not!"

Critias opened his mouth to protest—he was only harsh with Hermos on occasion because he was trying to push him to be his best, because he believed he was capable of being more than he was—but Hermos would have none of it.

"I can take care of myself, thank you." Hermos' honey eyes darted up to Timaeus, the one he would have expected to be honest with him. He nearly spat his next words: "Just try not to stab me in the back again while I leave."

He jerked his horse's head around and kicked it into a sudden run. Critias made to follow him, but Timaeus—who wanted nothing more than to follow Hermos and take his honorary brother into his arms—stopped Critias by grabbing his horse's reins.

"He needs time to cool off," Timaeus said quietly, watching him leave. "But he'll be back. I know he will. He'll be back."


	2. An Unpleasant Journey

"We should have told him the truth," Timaeus fretted as he paced nervously. Their horses were tied to a tree on the riverbank so that they could eat its leaves and drink at their leisure.

"When he accepts the truth and gets his head on straight, he'll come back," Critias insisted calmly, as if he believed what he was saying. "When has he ever not come back?"

"When he was captured by pirates and we had to rescue him," Timaeus retorted tartly, throwing Critias a surly look. "You should be more concerned about this. _You_ drive him away, after all."

"It wasn't just _me_ ," Critias snapped back, straightening up so that he was no longer leaning against a tree trunk and striding forward to stand closer to Timaeus, who'd paused his pacing. "It was you too! Did you see the way he looked at you?"

Timaeus breathed a sigh as heavy guilt wrapped around him, making his shoulders slump in a posture of defeat. "You're right," he murmured, looking down. "I really hurt him, didn't I?"

"You didn't hurt him any more than I did," Critias admitted with a sigh, nervously dragging a hand through his short blond hair. "Do I really treat him like that?"

"No, of course not," Timaeus assured, stepping closer and giving his partner's hand a comforting squeeze. "He was already upset this morning and willfully misinterpreted you."

"I was too hard on him." Critias' indigo eyes flicked up to meet Timaeus'. "You were right all along: we should have told him the truth."

"Until he returns, what do we do?" Timaeus asked, trying to formulate a plan. They couldn't sit around here forever. They were expected back in Atlantis to report the success of their mission to aid their allies in eliminating bands of thieves from their major trade route. Timaeus had charge of the missive from King Clovis to King Dartz expressing his thanks, and they were due to return by the next full moon.

"We go back, of course." Critias spoke calmly, knowing that they were in trouble if Hermos _didn't_ return. "We continue to Atlantis, because that's where he'll go once he's done with his tantrum." He caressed Timaeus' cheek, offering him a small smile of reassurance. "He's smart enough that he knows how to go home."

* * *

Hermos rode for days without direction or intention. He knew that Atlantis lay to the west and that the kingdom ruled by Clovis lay to the east, so he turned his horse north and ventured into lands he'd never seen before. The forests changed from deciduous to evergreen, the air changed from dry to humid, the squirrels changed from grey to black. Even the birds changed, their morning calls different here than they were at home.

Home. Was it really his home at all? It was all he'd ever known. He had no family of his own, but was fortunate enough to be taken in by a soldier at the castle when he was an adolescent. He was given food, clothes, shelter, and an opportunity he never would have gotten had it not been for the good Samaritan: a chance to train as a page with the hopes of one day becoming a squire, then a knight. Of course, that was the best case scenario. He was more likely to have turned out a soldier or a palace guard. Knights were a higher class of warriors, a class determined by merit, not by birth, but a difficult one to enter just the same.

As he traded pieces of his gear for the food he didn't have the money to pay for, he pondered his days as a squire. In his youth, he'd been reckless, impulsive, energetic. Life, with its many opportunities and mysteries, had always held a certain charm for him. There was no reason to despair when there were so many possibilities waiting to be discovered. He threw himself whole-heartedly into his training, eager to seize the opportunity he had.

He never possessed much innate talent for swordsmanship, but he was a hard worker with a knack for turning a fight around when his defeat was imminent. He had no natural skills except his way with animals: he was always adept at handling them, whether it be training a hunting dog or calming a spooked horse or handling carrier pigeons. Because of his precocity, he'd even gotten to handle more exotic or magical creatures on occasion, including a griffin, and a baby dragon. He'd never been afraid to approach the fletcher and ask how arrows were made, or ask the herbalist how he distinguished poisoned plants from healing herbs, or ask one of his peers how to master a strike or blow. He was inquisitive, adventurous, and foolhardy enough to be utterly unafraid. Besides that, his spirit was strong, his will to survive indomitable. Hermos had believed during his plucky, unapologetic adolescence that nothing was off-limits or out of reach. Seek, and you shall find. Earnest effort would always be rewarded somehow.

It pained Hermos when, after two weeks of aimless journeying, he finally reached the point of destitution where he needed to sell his horse and its gear—since a bridle and saddle would be useless to him without a horse—so that he could keep going. He didn't know where he was going, but he would know when he reached his journey's end.

Now he traveled on foot, his pack light, his past behind him, a new coin-purse carrying what he'd gotten when he sold his steed and equipment in the last town. The weather was getting colder, and he knew that he needed to settle before winter came, or he'd never survive. It was getting too cold at night for him to camp anymore, and he spent the next few nights at the inns of whatever hamlet he found himself at. He was a solitary figure, a young man who, for once in his life, minded his own business and spoke little, passing in and out of people's minds and towns as quickly as he could. He didn't want to draw attention to himself in case anyone came looking for him. He wasn't ready to go back yet.

Of course he missed them both deeply. Timaeus and Critias, both older than him by a couple years, had become the best friends he'd ever known and the closest things to brothers he'd ever have. They'd helped teach him how to live according to the Knight's Code. They'd taught him what it meant to be honorable, to have dignity, to serve king and country with absolute loyalty. They'd taught him how to be a good man and a good knight.

He still didn't understand why he'd been chosen to join them, though. There had been better fighters, warriors better suited to the role than Hermos, so someone must have seen something in him that let them think he had the potential to someday be the equal of his comrades. That was the only possible explanation, because he couldn't make sense of their situation otherwise. Critias was the smartest, innovative and cunning to the core. He could find a way to turn anything into a weapon if the need arose, and he was excellent at reading a situation and anticipating their opponent's' strategy. He had lightning fast reflexes, physically and mentally, and never failed to defeat Hermos in a game of wits or chess—and he never let him forget it, either. His arrogance was his fatal flaw, though nowadays, it manifested itself primarily through taunting Hermos as an older brother would heckle his younger brother. Sometimes he came across as harsh, but his intentions were always good. Almost always. There were few among the other knights that could beat him in a spar, and none could defeat him easily.

Timaeus was one of those few that could, but there was never a clear victor until the very end. They were just too evenly matched. Timaeus was the wisest of the three, the most discerning and the most heedful of all consequences that could result from their actions. It was this careful consideration that had earned him the role as leader of their trio. Critias' intellect was simply too dangerous to be allowed free rein without a more humanistic conscience to hold it in check and to humble him.

And Hermos, what did he have to offer them? Nothing that he could see, although he tended not to dwell too long on that fact, lest it dishearten him. Now, though, as he walked alone ever northward, he had too much time on his hands with which to think. He wasn't the smartest, the strongest, the quickest, the wisest, the tallest. He wasn't the most _anything_ , yet, he'd been chosen to join two of the most esteemed knights in the whole kingdom as the third member of their team. The practice of putting knights into cooperative teams of three had been established long ago in Atlantis, because it was found to make them better fighters, minimize casualties, and encourage a more cooperative atmosphere as opposed to a competitive one. There was always one team of knights, one trio that stood out prominently from all others and were honored as the most trusted knights of his majesty the king.

Critias, Hermos, and Timaeus had been that team. Somehow, they had achieved the most honored status that a knight could obtain, and Hermos couldn't understand _how_. Had he been riding the coattails of his comrades' success all along? Surely, if they'd all been left to their own talents and abilities, Hermos would be ranked lowest among all the knights in Atlantis. He almost hadn't earned his status as a knight at all. He'd been an afterthought, a charity case, an underdog. He'd gotten lucky, and that was about it. He didn't have Timaeus' diplomacy or Critias' genius or the incredible strength that they both possessed. He was working hard to achieve all of those things, but he was still far from his goal. So why had he been chosen to work with them?

His rambling train of thought was cut off as he was jumped by a pair of thieves wielding a pair of savage-looking daggers. He drew his sword—the one thing that he knew he'd never sell or trade no matter how hungry he was—and countered one criminal's strike. It was two on one, though, and in the blue dusk, the thieves had the clear advantage. Hermos put up quite a fight, but when one dagger slashed through the flesh of his upper right arm, he dropped his sword, the pain too great for him to withstand. This was the second time he'd been robbed this month. He was usually a pretty lucky person, but this autumn, nothing seemed to be working out for him. They didn't just take his money, though. They also took his sword. The sword that had been forged by the best smithy in the kingdom. The sword that was the perfect length and weight for him and felt like an extension of himself whenever he used it. The sword that, in its detailing, matched Timaeus' and Critias'. It was a valuable sword. It made sense for them to steal it. But Hermos wished that they hadn't.

He lay on the road, stunned and weak, for a few minutes before he got his wits together and dragged himself out of the main pathway to the edge, where he wouldn't be trampled. He tore off a strip of fabric from the extra shirt in his pack and bandaged the wound as best he could, trying to stop the bleeding before he got any weaker. The wound was deep, which explained why it hurt so much. Night fell and so did a heavy rain, so Hermos simply covered himself with his water-resistant traveling cloak and prayed to the gods that he survived the night.

He slept intermittently during the storm, sometimes roused by the thunder, sometimes roused by his pain. He was thoroughly soaked before the night was half over, and as he lay in extreme discomfort, his wandering mind thought recalled his sweetheart back home. Well, former sweetheart. They'd been going steady since the spring, and he'd thought that everything between them was perfect. A week before they departed for this mission, he'd asked her to marry him. She'd turned him down. Apparently, they'd had different perceptions of their relationship. He could still feel that rejection like a fresh wound and remembered clearly how Timaeus and Critias had tried to cheer him up that night, when he'd been angry and hurt enough that he'd gotten drunk and sat by himself in the corner of the tavern, spurning any and every attempt to console or encourage him, until his comrades had come alongside him and talked him out of his foul mood with jokes and laughter.

As the rain finally faded into a thick fog, Hermos tried to move, but only let out a groan of pain. He shivered, his skin starting to burn with an internal heat. He reached for his flask in order to slake his thirst, and found that there was very little water left. He drank the last of it as he mentally cursed himself.

Critias was right. He _was_ foolish and stupid. He could have opened his flask last night and let the rain fill it, but he hadn't thought to do so. He could have stayed in the village he'd passed through around midday, then he wouldn't have gotten robbed and injured and sick, but he'd felt too restless to stay put in one place all afternoon. He _was_ stubborn, and while his stubbornness sometimes saved his life, it had also gotten him into trouble numerous times. Hopefully, this would be one of those times when his stubbornness saved his life. He entrusted himself to whatever power of fortune or providence had been protecting him all these years as he slipped back into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

 **Author Notes:** Okay, so I know this chapter wasn't as good as the last one, but the next one will be better. Please review and let me know what you think!


	3. A Good Samaritan

"Drustan, look!" A young woman with braided strawberry hair leaned out over the edge of their small cart as it approached a bend in the road.

"What is it?" the driver responded, his hazel eyes darting in the direction that his passenger was pointing in. He quickly brought their mule to a halt before hopping off of the chassey and approaching the unconscious traveler.

"Is he alive?" the young woman asked worriedly. "Please tell me he's alive."

"He's alive, but he's wounded," came the grim answer. "Looks like he's been out here for days. I think he's sick, too."

"Then we can't just leave him here," she decided, looking determined.

"You're right, Sarina. We'll take him straight to Shirayuki as soon as we get back," he assured as he carefully carried the stranger over to his cart while his sweetheart laid out a cloak for the man to lie on. Drustan quickly resumed his position and urged his mule into a brisk trot.

"He does feel feverish," Sarina observed as she pressed her hand to his forehead. She wet her kerchief with water from her canteen and lay it across his forehead before she re-bandaged his arm. It wouldn't do much but keep the wound clean until he could be seen by the doctor. "Do we have much further to go?"

"Just a couple miles," Drustan answered confidently. "We're not very far at all. Is there any indication of who he is or where he's from?"

Sarina briefly inspected his pack and found very little. None of it told her anything about the man. She glanced back at him and noticed something that she hadn't before: a leather cord around his neck. She gently tugged at it and pulled the pendant out from under his well-worn shirt.

"He's wearing an Atlantean crest," she announced.

"What's an Atlantean doing so far north?" her companion pondered aloud.

"He has a knight's ring, too," she added. He wasn't wearing it on his finger, though; it was on the cord with the pendant bearing the Atlantean crest. He'd probably put it there so that it didn't get stolen. "But his scabbard is empty."

"He was probably mugged," Drustan muttered, clearly disapproving of the lowlifes who would do such a thing. "I'll bet they hurt him then stole his sword and anything of value he had with him."

"The poor thing." Sarina sighed sadly as she gazed at the knight's flushed face. The stranger stirred a little, but didn't wake.

* * *

"His fever finally broke this afternoon. Good thing, too. I was starting to wonder if he was going to make it."

He felt hot, so hot… Sweat trickled down the side of Hermos' face and dampened his bangs.

"His wound was infected, but not so badly that—Wait, I think he's starting to wake up."

He didn't recognize the calm, feminine voice that drifted into his ear. Something cold and wet pressed against his forehead, and he grunted in an inarticulate expression of gratitude.

"Can you hear me?" that same voice called gently.

Hands pressed to his hot cheeks, the palms cool and dry to the touch. It felt good.

"Hmmm…" He hummed his approval, his eyes still closed.

"If you can hear me, please speak," that gentle voice begged him.

Hermos made an effort, and after a few moments, managed to blink open his eyes. A dim, candle-lit room greeted him. He couldn't make out any details but one: the kind woman in front of him with a worried look in her eyes. Her hair was bright scarlet, short enough that it just barely brushed across her shoulders. She smiled down at him, and he returned the smile.

"Look, Zen, he _is_ awake," she called, glancing up at some unknown person beyond Hermos' field of vision. "What's your name?" she asked him, pushing his wet hair away from his eyes.

"Dareios," he answered after a moment. He didn't want to use his real name. He was so far from home that nobody here would have heard of him, but he didn't want to take any chances. This was a chance for him to start over. "And would this lovely lady have a name of her own?"

The scarlet-haired beauty giggled, making Hermos grin.

"Careful how you speak to my wife, goodsir knight," a deeper male voice warned from behind his head. Hermos presumed that was Zen.

"Don't let him bother you," the lady assured with a smile. "He's just protective."

"I would be too if you were _my_ wife."

"Hasn't anyone ever told you to think before you speak?" Zen asked, a cautionary tone in his voice.

"Of course, he tells me all the time," Hermos murmured, his smile fading as he remembered how Timaeus had often told him that very thing.

"Shirayuki." Her eyes were warm and kind as she smiled down at him and withdrew her hands from his cheeks to reach for something. "My name is Shirayuki."

 _Shirayuki_. The name was foreign and strange, and Hermos sounded it in his mind slowly as he tried to accustom himself to it. She brought a flask of water to his lips and he drank greedily, his mouth parched from how long he'd gone without a proper drink.

"What is an Atlantean like you doing so far from home?" she asked gently as she capped the flask and put it away. Hermos stiffened, his eyes darting to her face as a jolt of panic hit him.

"How do you know that I'm an Atlantean knight?" he asked bluntly, suddenly on his guard.

"Your crest and your ring," she answered, undisturbed by his change in mood. Zen walked over to stand behind Shirayuki then, allowing Hermos to see the lean man not much older than himself. His hair was snow white, his eyes kind, but his posture one of defense, as if he hadn't made up his mind about Hermos yet. He was dressed quite well. They both were in fact.

"I ask again, why are you so far from home?" she repeated, now looking on him in pity as she began to sense that he was troubled.

"It's a long story," he muttered, his eyes falling closed again. This exchange had been brief, but he was weak enough that it had exhausted him.

"Then sleep for now, Dareios."

He could feel a blanket being tucked in around his shoulders.

"Rest and recover so that you can tell us your story soon."


	4. A New Acquaintance

Hermos slept the rest of the night, and when he awoke next morning, he felt much better than he had the previous evening. His fever was going down, though he was still weak. His arm still hurt, but it had been cleaned and properly tended to.

"You're awake!" a youthful, cheery voice exclaimed. He looked in the direction of its owner and saw someone new: a young lady a couple years younger than himself with long strawberry hair and round hazel eyes.

"Are you feeling better this morning?" she asked as she stood and brought him a flask of water, which he accepted gratefully.

"Much," he replied before he drank. "Where am I and how did I get here?"

"A friend and I were on the road in our cart coming back from a visit to my sister when we found you on the road. You were hurt and sick, so we brought you back to our town. The best healer in town is the queen herself, my mentor, so we brought you straight to her. You're in the castle right now."

"The queen?" Hermos repeated after a few moments, starting to pale.

"Yes, Queen Shirayuki was trained as an herbalist and expanded her knowledge of medicine when she married our monarch, King Zen."

"I was flirting with the _queen_?" Hermos groaned and covered his eyes with his good arm as he grumbled, "I should really start asking about that sort of thing."

This sent the girl into a fit of giggles that added color to her cheeks.

"How about you, sweet nurse?" he asked slyly, shifting his arm so he could look her in the eye. "I don't suppose you're married, are you?"

"No, goodsir, but I _am_ spoken for," she answered patiently. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"I must be living in a nightmare, then!" he exclaimed dramatically. "I have stumbled across a land full of beautiful women that are all spoken for! Alack the day, there is no love for an honorable man in such a nation as this!"

As the nurse laughed aloud, thoroughly amused and charmed by the stranger, a young man around Hermos' age with short, medium brown hair and dark hazel eyes entered the room.

"I'm glad to see you looking so well," the young man said to Hermos before glancing at the nurse. "Now you've got me curious, Sarina. What's so funny?"

Sarina still hadn't quite finished laughing. "I know he's a knight, Drustan, but he speaks like a court jester." She glanced back at Hermos and added, "I mean no offense."

"None was taken, I assure you." The stranger smiled back at them with a twinkle in his eye. "However, I still don't know what nation it is that is harboring my humble self."

"Corona is our kingdom," Drustan answered. "We are in the capital city, Soleanna." He approached the bed and sat on the edge as Hermos started to sit up. "Now would you mind answering a few questions for us?"

"I'll answer any reasonable question as honestly as I can," he replied, maintaining his easy grin.

"Your name is Dareios, yes?"

"Yes, it is."

"And you're a knight?"

"I am."

"On what business have you come to Corona?"

"No business at all. I come for pleasure."

"Why were you traveling alone?"

"Because I no longer wished the company of my companions."

"Why did you leave Atlantis in the first place?"

"We were on a mission for the king. Our mission completed, I split off from the group and decided to travel the nations while I was still young enough to do so."

"Do you plan on returning to your kingdom?"

"Yes. Someday."

"And until then, what do you plan on doing with yourself?"

"Goodsir," Hermos replied with a grin. "You know not with whom you are speaking. I am a jack of all trades and master of none. I will find work to do. There's always someone who needs help with something."

The two men faced each other coolly for a moment before Drustan held out his hand to the visitor.

"It is good to meet you."

Hermos shook his hand, feeling like he'd achieved something.

"And you as well, though I'm not sue I caught either of your names."

"My name is Drustan. I am blacksmith here in town. That's my girl, Sarina," he added, nodding in the nurse's direction. She blushed and beamed at him.

"Blacksmith, eh?" Hermos cocked an eyebrow. "I'm quite handy in a smithy, you know."

Drustan laughed good-naturedly. "I imagine you are."

That very day, Hermos was on his feet again, if only briefly. He'd grown quite scrawny in the course of his solo travels, and Sarina insisted he rest so that she could put some meat on his bones, but he only did so after taking an hour or two to explore the castle. He found the stables, the great hall, the kitchen, the servants' quarters, the armory—which reminded him that he was sorely lacking a sword. Without his sword, he felt naked. He needed a new one, but not any sword would do. Then again, he had no money. Well, he'd find a way to remedy that.

* * *

"Where is Sir Hermos?"

Timaeus and Critias glanced at each other nervously before the shorter of the two cleared his throat and addressed their king.

"Your Highness, Hermos has taken something of a sabbatical. We don't know when he'll return or where he went."

"Such erratic behavior is unbecoming for a knight of Atlantis," Dartz replied with narrow eyes and an icy voice. "If he has not returned within a season, we will have to replace him permanently. Until then, Sir Evander shall begin training with you. Is that understood?"

"Yes, my lord," the two knights replied promptly.

"Thank you for your service and for delivering the letter from our allies. You are dismissed."

They bowed together and turned to leave the throne-room and return to their quarters. They walked in silence, both preoccupied with their own concerns, but as soon as they closed the door to their room, Timaeus spoke up.

"We shouldn't have lied to him."

"It wasn't a lie," Critias insisted. "It's true that we don't know where he went or when he'll return."

"We also don't know _if_ he'll return," Timaeus added pointedly as he unbuckled his sword belt and hung his weapon on the wall by the hooks that were placed for that purpose, Critias starting to do the same. "We also know _why_ he left, and we didn't tell them that either."

"He didn't _ask_ why he left," Critias retorted tartly, his hands busy as he removed his cloak. Hermos' absence was driving a wedge between the two lovers, one that they could overcome for brief periods of time before there was another falling out between them.

Timaeus couldn't help but wonder if there was something about Hermos' presence that had kept Critias and himself from butting heads constantly, as they seemed to be doing now. When they were squires, that was their relationship as well: too strong personalities clashing as they struggled with each other to be the best. Then Hermos, the skinny little street rat who'd wormed his way into castle, had come along, and that dynamic had changed.

Critias noticed that his partner's hands had stilled as he became preoccupied with thoughts of their brother-in-arms.

"He'll come back sooner or later, Timaeus. He can't stay away forever," Critias murmured reassuringly, placing a hand on the other's shoulder.

"He'd better come back soon," Timaeus sighed, closing his eyes. "We need him here." He glanced at the blond knight with sad realization in his emerald eyes. "I think he's the only reason you and I ever got along."

"How do you mean?" Critias was puzzled by this observation, but he was willing to hear Timaeus' explanation.

"I mean, you and I were focused on trying to be better than each other until we met him. And he did that thing that he always used to do."

Critias rolled his eyes as he recalled, "He started asking us for help with his sword-play."

"And help with his fighting."

"And his riding."

"And his shooting."

The fond memories of their youth left a bittersweet taste in their mouths.

"That was when we stopped working against each other," Timaeus said softly, looking up into Critias' indigo eyes with fondness.

"And started working with each other, in order to teach him what we knew," Critias finished, understanding now what his friend had meant by his earlier comment. He bent his head to press his forehead against the other's.

"We owe him our thanks, as well as an apology."

Critias pecked his lover's lips and hugged him close. "I'm not sure that I'm content to wait for him to come home."

"Neither am I. We should ask if we can search for him."

"They'll probably say no, but it can't hurt to ask."

* * *

 **Author Notes:** Sarina is Serenity. Drustan is Tristan. Corona is the kingdom in Tangled. Soleanna is the city in Sonic '06. Shirayuki and Zen are characters from "Snow White With the Red Hair." That makes 4 fandoms incorporated into this story. Shall we see if I can bring that number up to 10? ;)


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